


Ill Omened Quests

by icarus_chained



Series: Dak Territories [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Comrades in Arms, Death, Demons, Fantasy, Friendship, Gen, Geography, Gods, High Fantasy, Immortality, Mortality, Original Mythology, Pantheons, Politics, Quests, Sacrifice, Soldiers, The Order, Thieves Guild, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-08
Updated: 2014-01-08
Packaged: 2018-01-08 01:19:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1126657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icarus_chained/pseuds/icarus_chained
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As the war between gods and daemons looks set to reach a terminal crisis point, the now-mortal God of War and the remnants of his Order seek the Shrine of Solinas to restore his immortality. Along the way, though, they begin to realise that there is a far greater plan in the works, and Beren, their prisoner, has an awful lot to do with it.</p><p>Set some twenty-ish years after <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/1004582?view_full_work=true">Dawn Shadows</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Comes The War, Comes The End

**Author's Note:**

> Five fragments of the quest, the only other parts of this universe I've written. I apologise in advance for the fragmentary nature, and the cliffhanger ending -_-;

The fire flickered and crackled fitfully, disturbed by the winds down from the mountains, and not even the copse of trees, a last outpost of the lower forests, could shield it. Meruk shifted slightly, drawing his cloak closer around himself. The Landak arc of the Kiiren Mountains was well know for its winds, the so-called 'Breath of the Gods'. Privately, he thought it very unlikely that any of the gods, not even Birkan of the Winds, would spend all their time breathing down a single mountain. Not even they were so vindictive.

Across the fire, he could see Daes and Jung murmuring to each other, occasionally flaring up into louder exclamations before falling back again. An argument, then, though gods knew what about. Jung looked to be in fine fighting form, though, and that was good to see. He'd been mind-wandering for too long since the massacre, since his men were lost, and Meruk didn't trust the places that strange, genius mind could go when distressed. No. Better to keep Jung in the here and now, as much as possible.

To their right, Aruk stood leaning against a tree, his eyes fixed firmly on the mountains, their destination. The Shrine of Solinas, his brother. His only hope. His expression was dark, hovering between rage and desperation, desolation. Meruk shivered, looking away hurriedly. He could not bear to see his god so weak.

And that left only one of their company. The thief, second of the Guild. Beren. And this time, his eyes were met and matched, the Guilder staring back unabashedly from where he was tied to a tree. Meruk glared at him, and Beren smirked slightly in the firelight, the planes of his face shifting as the light moved over them. Meruk huffed, and looked away.

Out, then. Where it was safe to look. Out at the mountains of the Landak, the territory of gods. The truest of the Daks. Land of mountain and forest and river, shrine and fort. The Battle Dak, the last holding-place of the gods. His land, since his inception into the Order of Aruk.

He wondered how much that meant, now. When everything had changed so much, and the Daks were in turmoil.

Eight in number, the Dak territories. No. Nine, since the Sidak had officially seceded from the Suddak, become more than just its eastern province. The secession had been among the first of the tremors, the hints of ending times. The mortality of his god was only the latest. The war was becoming something else, something more terrible than the simple war of attrition it had been. Guild and Orders, and forces from outside the Daks altogether, all were weaving the webs of war throughout the lands. And soon, so soon, it would boil over into outright conflict.

He only hoped that it was not with the death of his god.

It would be the Nordak first, he thought. The daemon stronghold, the northern-most territory. If the death of his god was their opening gambit, it would be from there that their forces would come. Lannordak too, with the Forest of Thieves, caught between Landak and Nordak. They'd have to fight, and choose sides rapidly. The Suddak next, then. Hotbed of trade and intrigue, all the sea-links to the Daks came through that most southern territory. It would be there the outside powers made their move.

The Kaidaks, the central plainslands, he wasn't sure. Kaidak itself was largely self-absorbed, and wouldn't be likely to move in any direction unless forced. With the fertile lakelands there, he doubted either force would push at it until absolutely necessary. Not unless all hope for the future was abandoned to the needs of the present.

Kainordak would ally with the Guild. That was certainty. Near annexed by the Nordak over the years, and infected with a touch of Maehldak insanity from their western neighbour, they'd be a force to be reckoned with, too. Hopefully, the Kaisuddak forces would balance them in favour of the Orders. Karinn, the goddess of the land, had always been powerful in the grainslands.

And the Maehldak, the western territory? Nobody had the slightest idea. Mountains and sea, that was all there was to that land. Mountains and sea, and the madness. Spirits of the Elokoi Ren, most thought, the sea sprites that sang madness into men's hearts. The Land of the Sisters, the Maehldak, where madness waited and luck and fate decided your path, and choice had little to do with it. Meruk had never been there. He never wanted to go, either. Even still, even sworn and loyal to his god, he liked to think that his choices were his own, and no-one's fault but his.

Nine lands. Nine territories. The Daks. Lands of god and daemon, of humans and higher powers than any. A prize for any outland enemy, provided the god/daemon war didn't ravage them totally, and only those same gods and daemons to hold the foreigners back. For centuries, they'd held to a tentative balance, always at war but never outright, never blatantly, always keeping their eyes turned outward instead of purely at each other. And now, with this gambit, with the revolution and secession of the Sidak, it seemed gods, daemons and humans alike were turned completely inward, at each other's throats. And as soon as they were done, when one side or another, or neither, had won ... then the outlanders would come. Over the mountains or the sea. And the Daks would fall.

Meruk shook his head, turning almost unwillingly to look once more on his god, and on the enemy tied across from him, and up at the mountains ahead of them. He'd never thought he and his men, their god, would be the linchpin of a war. Not like this, alone and desperately seeking something that had no guarantee of working. Not mortal. Not like this. Never like this. He was a soldier of the god of war. In battle, he knew what to do. In battle he could win. But this wasn't battle. This was a quest, a fool's errand, with the war and the fate of his homeland in the balance.

And he didn't know if he could win.


	2. The God Asked

They waited. They shouldn't. Time was slipping away, a deadline in the most literal sense of the word, and his god only had so much left. They were days from the Shrine of Solinas, and Aruk could not afford this halt. But still. They could not move, not until they knew for sure.

Meruk stood on the lip of the plunging dry-gorge, staring down as much of its length as he could, down as far the first sharp turn. The cliffs stretched over him, the snaking path they had taken over the scree slope at their foot standing out in stark relief. If the gorge hadn't sliced through the valley, Jung might have ... Well, he might have stood a chance, but Meruk couldn't even think that loudly. Not with Daes standing just ahead of him, staring with serene patience down the gorge, waiting for his lost partner. Jung was alive, he'd said, with that frightening certainty with which those two spoke of each other. Alive, and coming towards them. So they waited.

"We need to go," his god growled suddenly, stopping his pacing to stand at Meruk's shoulder. Meruk winced a little. Daes, however, simply ignored the comment entirely.

"We cannot," Meruk tried to temporise, turning to face his god, wary of the anger and desperation that sparked in the gold-black eyes. Aruk was god of war, after all, and not exactly known for his ability to keep his temper. Even made mortal, he was too powerful and experienced to challenge. But they couldn't go. They _couldn't._ "Not yet, my lord. Only a little longer ..."

"A little longer!" Aruk exploded, and Meruk flinched, his hand tightening instinctively on his sword hilt. Not that he would ever dare strike his god, or even defend himself. Only instinct. That was all. "Based on what! The word of a lunatic who is neither god nor demon? Who _can't_ know what he claims to know? Are we to risk my life on that?"

Daes turned at that, just a little, his grizzled face creasing slightly, and Meruk stiffened. But Daes said nothing, only shrugged in seeming exasperation before turning away, and he breathed in relief.

"My lord," he started, to try and explain, and stopped. Because to be honest he didn't _know_ how to explain the strange connection that existed between the old campaigner and the young genius. Not magic. Not anything he understood. Just a kind of ... symbiosis, maybe. Just an understanding. Something that, in a world of gods and daemons and their magic, Meruk blasphemously thought might belong purely to humans. To friends and partners and comrades in arms.

It was nothing the god staring at him would understand either, so instead he said the one thing the God of War would listen to, would take with the gravity it deserved. "My lord," he finished quietly. "Jung is one of your men. And he has fallen. We cannot just leave him, not when there might be a chance."

Aruk stiffened, raising his chin in affronted challenge, obviously wrestling with the age-old duty that was so much a part of him, and the fresh and terrible fear of death his mortality had brought on. Meruk watched the struggle in respectful silence, feeling again the strange combination of fear and loss and pity the sight of his mortal god had sown in him since this nightmare began. Disgust too, for the near-coward Aruk had seemed in those first days, as if without the shield of immortality he dared not fight a gnat. And yet ... as time passed, as his god settled into the travails of human existence, as he regained the courage and honour he was renowned for ... Meruk felt his respect growing again.

Like now, as Aruk nodded stiffly, not daring to say anything, and strode rigidly back up the trail to resume his pacing. Mortal or god, a warrior did not leave his brothers behind, not while they yet lived.

Sighing softly, letting his shoulders relax once more, Meruk turned back to the gorge and moved to one of the boulders on the edge of the scree-field, leaning back against it with a groan. Daes turned his head slightly to meet his eyes, and there was respect and gratitude in the old soldier's gaze. Meruk shook his head gently. As if he could have done anything else. Daes and Jung may be soldiers of Aruk, but first and foremost they were _his_ men, and all that was left of them, at that. Even the slightest chance that Jung lived was enough for him to wait an eternity.

Daes nodded, and returned to his vigil. But he paused a moment to say: "He's coming, Commander. Not twenty minutes, now. Moving slow, is all. He's coming."

Meruk nodded calmly, and shrugged. As long as it took. With a faint smile, wondering what kind of damned luck had kept the young idiot alive this time, he settled in to wait.

\---

Twenty five minutes later, Daes straightened in his watch, his eyes sharpening and a fierce, vindicated smile appearing on his face. Meruk pulled himself off the boulder in turn, looking automatically to see what had caught Daes' eye, and blinked at what he saw making its slow, painful way up the gorge. He hadn't know what to expect of Jung, not after a fall of that length, not with the prisoner tied to him all the time. For him to be bloodstained, maybe, having fought. Near dead, very possibly. Daes had said he was moving, so not in pieces, anyway.

He hadn't expected Jung to be battered but reasonably whole, clinging like a limpet to the prisoner's back as the stronger and apparently less injured man carried him slowly but surely up the slope towards their position.

Meruk had never thought he'd see the bastard again, whether or not he'd survived the initial fall, bound as he was. The prisoner had followed Jung over the edge, which admittedly had been Jung's fault. Blasted idiot's curiosity again. He'd have thought the man would have run as soon as he could, or tried to attack Jung and perished, though granted that had been a faint chance, given Jung's relative lack of skill in close quarters. The man had to know that if he allowed himself to be taken back, he was marching to his death, and not in sympathetic company. But it seemed all that was irrelevant, since apparently Jung had managed to _charm_ the man into helping him.

That, or Beren, the Guild's second in command and now their prisoner, was plotting something. Which was by far the more likely possibility.

Back stiff, his hand firm on the hilt of his sword, hearing his god vibrating in anger behind him, Meruk followed Daes' madcap run down the gorge at a more sedate, cautious pace. Whatever was going on here, he was going to get to the bottom of it.

As soon as Daes had reached the lurching pair, Beren surrendered his charge with a smile, crouching enough to allow Daes to help the young man off his back, tipping forward onto his knees with a groan as the weight was removed. Daes, meanwhile, cautious of Jung's wrapped chest and obviously damaged ankle, helped his partner to the floor of the gorge, and set about intently examining his injuries, muttering fiercely and quietly to his patient as he did so. Jung, for his part, settled back against the rock with a tired smile, and rested his hand gently on Daes' knee, murmuring reassuringly back. Meruk felt a brief flash of envy for their instant connection, and pushed it ruthlessly aside, focusing instead on the business at hand. On Beren.

He clambered down the last few feet to stand over the kneeling Guilder, staring fiercely down at the man's bowed head until he deigned to look up, an expression of wry amusement in his eyes. Meruk glared.

"Commander," Beren panted, still pulling in air desperately. So close, Meruk could see the heavy bruising that covered his face and arms, and probably everything else, too. He might have been slightly more prepared for the plunge than Jung, having seen the younger man go over first, but no matter how prepared you were, you didn't survive a slide down a jagged scree slope and a dive over a cliff into a gorge with nothing to show for it. The Guilder was plenty hurt himself. Just stronger than Jung, and with no damaged limbs.

Meruk looked at him, panting on his knees at Meruk's feet, and then over at Jung, lying still under Daes' ministrations, the makeshift bandage on his chest parted to show the deep, vicious bruising that meant broken ribs at the very least. He looked at them, and the thought that this man might be using the injured Jung to further some goal of his own clawed furiously at his heart. Without pausing to think, he leant down to seize the surprised Guilder's shoulder and pull him roughly to his feet, before locking his hand into a vice-like grip and towing the prisoner down the gorge to the bend that had hidden him from view. And would again, until Meruk had gotten some damn answers out of the bastard.

"Commander, what ..." Beren started, and cut off with an agonised groan as Meruk shoved him roughly into the wall, and pinned him with a furious arm across the chest. Gasping, the man looked at him in pained bewilderment, and Meruk growled against him.

"You are going to explain some things to me, Guilder," he hissed, free hand taut on the grip of his sword. "You are going to explain them _right now_ , or so help me, you will not walk away from this point!" The man blinked at him. Had the absolute gall to look _surprised._ Meruk snarled silently, and pressed harder on the bruised chest, eliciting a very satisfying gasp of pain. When Beren looked back at him, eyes hazed in pain, Meruk pressed his point. "You will tell me what machination led to return to us, Guilder," he spat.

Beren blinked, and shook his head with a frown. "It wasn't as if ... as if I could leave him there," he wheezed, labouring to breathe. "Only a kid, after all."

Meruk shook his head. "Not good enough," he snapped. "Gods above, exactly how much a fool do you take me for!" The man just stared at him silently, calm and tired and very battered, and suddenly Meruk was tired of it. Tired of the confusion, the terror, the paranoia that he knew in his bones was fully justified. This whole thing, his god made mortal by daemon hands, he and his captured men set free to give Aruk his last year of life in company, Beren's capture and presence, Aruk's plan to regain his immortality ... none of it made any damn sense, and that could only mean one thing.

Something higher than gods was playing here.

"Who do you serve," he asked quietly, and Beren tilted his head, his eyes sharpening with sudden appreciation. Meruk felt oddly proud of that. "Who do you serve that you are willing to walk into death for their cause, for our cause." He frowned heavily, and added: "And don't you dare say you would serve Aruk! You've been one of the only two reasons the Guild and the daemons it serves have not fallen to us years since. You and that damned cousin of yours! So answer me truthfully, Guilder!" His voice softened, then. "Answer me truthfully. Who do you serve?"

Beren smiled sadly at him. "It would be true enough, you know," he said softly, and Meruk shook his head in confusion. "That in this I would serve Aruk," he went on, quietly, watching Meruk's disbelieving face. "If a god, any god, were to die a mortal death ... The war would not end until either gods or daemons or both were destroyed, and I don't fancy humanity's chances in the interim." And there was that wry little smile again, the one that made Meruk want to either punch him or hand him a drink. Cynicism came fast, these days.

"So why did your daemons do it?" he asked harshly, remembering all to clearly the horror of watching the Thief Daemon steal away the thread of his god's life, while Daes, Jung and he could only kneel and listen to Aruk's cries of desperation. No. He didn't think he would ever forget that, and the memory made him vicious.

"Maybe," said Beren, meeting his hot stare with one equally hard and uncompromising. "Maybe because they thought your god might be the only one who would _learn_ something from it."

Meruk stared at him.

"They never meant to kill him," the Guilder went on softly. "Gellana, maybe, but Mellanie is a thief, not a murderess. She stole only his access to his years. If she wanted him dead, all she had to do was thrown them beyond reach altogether." He paused, softened. "The war needs to stop sometime, Commander. And Aruk was the best hope. They need him to become immortal once more as much as anyone. They just need him to see a few things first."

"That's why," Meruk murmured softly. "That's why you're here. To watch him. To watch us. That's why ... when we passed the Forest of Thieves, no-one even approached, though I know for a fact at least two bands followed us for a time."

Beren smiled. "Yes. Thought you noticed that one. Zen will be disappointed."

Meruk tossed his head dismissively. "Like I care what that bastard thinks!" he growled, but only from habit. Something still troubled him. Well. Everything troubled him. This whole thing. The games of gods worried him. He was a commander. Not a mage, not god-touched. Just a soldier for his god. These games terrified him in their reach, their complexity, their terrible weight. A wrong move as a pawn in them could mean ... things he dared not think about too closely. Things he did not want to have to think about at all. So he didn't, and focused on the little niggle about the man in front of him instead, the tiny instinct that said he was hiding something else.

"Why you," he murmured, puzzling it over. "The second most important man in the Guild. Why you, when almost certainly ... almost certainly you will die." As a sacrifice on Solinas' altar, to bring the Sun God to grant his brother the gift of power once more, so he could wrest back his life from the daemons. "You will die," he whispered again, looking into the Guilder's eyes, realising for the first time that it was something he did not want, something he was ashamed to do. An ignoble death, for a noble man. It went against everything.

"Yes," Beren said, very gently. "I might die. I probably will die. But even so, Shaiar will be waiting for me, and I'll have done what I was asked. It's not so bad." Meruk hid a shudder at the name of the Black God of Death, but did not take his eyes from the other man's face.

"Who?" he asked again, very softly. "Who asked you? Who would you do this for? Who do you serve?" Not a daemon, he thought. To high, to far reaching a plan for daemons. Not gods, either, for none would consider mortality as a tool, not for one of their own. Pride would not allow that. But that only left ...

"Yes," Beren smiled, sadly, the weight of many years of knowledge behind it. "I stand beneath the hands of the Sisters."

Meruk froze, shuddering. No. No. It could not ... but it had to be. It had to be them, to plan so far, to reach so far ahead. Only they could have seen. Time, Fate and Luck. The Sisters who governed all, who stood above gods and daemons as they stood above humanity. And this man ... to serve the Sisters, one must by thrice god-touched, before the thirteenth year of life, each time by different gods. And there were only so many gods who would be so involved with humans.

"Who touched you?" he asked, morbidly curious, terribly afraid. The man's smile was different, now. Hard and distant, impossibly sad.

"Scrannon, Shaiar, Melae," he listed softly. The Plague God, the God of Death and Melae, the Lady of Healing. A story in three names, really, and far from a happy one. Meruk winced in sympathy. He'd seen the plague villages, twenty years back during the epidemics. He'd seen the kind of deaths found there. He'd take a clean death by sword, even fire, before he'd endure that.

"I'm sorry," he said, and meant it. Beren shrugged, dislodging Meruk's slack arm in the process.

"It happened," the Guilder said, distantly. "That's all. But the Sisters touched me then. The Lady first. For Shaiar to have let me go ... I was lucky, after all. And the Lady asked me for this. To go with you. All of you. To see you through." He paused, smiled, wry once more. "Even given the questionable hospitality. And I will, you know. See you through. All of you."

"Why?" Meruk asked, faintly, stepping back from the battered man. "Why?"

Beren smiled once more, stepped forward to stand beside Meruk, his gaze turning to the side, to the turn that blocked the upper slope from view, where Meruk's god waited with his men. Meruk followed it, and understood, even before the other man answered. He understood all too well. It was how he had lived his life, since he'd been all of seven years old.

"Because," Beren said, meeting his tired eyes once more, smiling ever so sadly. "My god asked it of me."

And when the gods ask, there is nothing for man to do but answer.


	3. One Day More

The mountain rose ahead of them, the highest peak of the Landak arc, the Mountain of the Sun. Meruk followed the line of the ridge across its back, the trail to the Shrine of Solinas, their destination, where Aruk hoped to achieve a divinity with his brother's help. One day, the length of that trail. Just one more day.

He looked down, locking his eyes on the sword in his lap, trying futilely not to think too hard on what waited for them there. He was a servant of Aruk, a warlord, and as such he owed allegiance to Solinas as lord of the Gods. But. But. Of all the Gods, dark and light, old and new, the God of the Sun was perhaps the one he trusted least, and feared most. Solinas was easily the most arrogant of the gods, the least caring for mortal suffering, and he hated weakness. There was every chance, then, that when faced with the mortal his brother had become, the Sun God would turn him away. Or worse.

There was a noise at his side, and he looked up in startlement to see the Guilder easing himself down beside him. He stared. Since the gorge, when the man had returned willingly, carrying Jung back to them, Beren had travelled beside them unbound, and not even Aruk had disagreed. Much as the War God hated the Guild, even he had admitted to the courage and honour of the man. But for all that, there had been no real easing of relations between Beren and the rest of them, save perhaps between him and Daes. But the older soldier would love anyone who helped Jung, so that was hardly surprising.

"Can I help you?" he asked, perhaps pointedly, but Meruk was not a man who appreciated being interrupted when in fear for the future. His life gave him little enough time to brood, and he had long since determined to make use of every minute that came his way.

"No, thank you," Beren smiled, the oblivious bastard. "I only came to see how you were. Your men are worried for you." Meruk looked up at that, startled, and turned to meet Daes' concerned gaze from across the fire. Jung, deep in eager conversation with Aruk, probably on some philosophical bent to judge by the God's bewildered expression, even took a moment from the discussion to nod his way also. Meruk blinked.

"So they are," he murmured. "I hadn't realised I was worrying them."

"They worry a lot for you," Beren commented mildly. "I think it's because you don't have a partner, the way they have each other. They worry that you hold yourself too distant, so they can't be there for you when you need it."

Meruk turned to him in surprise, eyebrows arching instinctively. "You're terribly well informed," he said waspishly, disturbed, but the man only smiled.

"Maybe," he answered gently, "but I happen to be worried too, so it seemed only proper to share the worry around."

Meruk stared. "Worried," he stated flatly, the disbelief rich in his voice. Beren nodded, and turned his gaze up the mountain, where Meruk had been looking only moments earlier. Meruk followed it, and sighed, understanding a little. Of course the man was worried. His death waited up there, after all. Maybe all their deaths, and only a day to separate them. He shook his head. "I'm sorry. Of course you are." Beren looked back at him with surprise, and then a real smile made its way onto his face, directed right at Meruk.

"You're a good man, Commander," he noted, smiling when Meruk looked away with a flush, guilt gnawing at him. "Thank you. But I'm actually more worried for your god."

"What?" Meruk turned back to stare in astonishment. Then worry, instant and shrewd. "Why?" Beren met his gaze seriously, his eyes tracking briefly to where Aruk was still engaged in increasingly baffled conversation with Jung, and when he looked back his expression was grave.

"You already know," he said. "Solinas isn't going to help. And Shaiar has been following us closely." Meruk jumped, looking around in sudden terror. The God of Death! Nearby? Beren shook his head. "Something's waiting for us up there. And I doubt it will be good for any of us, least of all Aruk."

Meruk frowned heavily, his hands clenching on his sword. He looked across the fire and met the knowing gaze of Aruk, the calm readiness for battle and death clear in the War God's eyes. He knew. They all knew. One more day, and this would end, one way or another, once and for all. And against Solinas, a mortal god, three soldiers and even the dubious aid of the Guilder were not going to amount to much.

But they had no choice, did they? One day to an end or twenty, Aruk had little time. And it might work. It might work.

"I know," he answered Beren, slowly. "I know. But we're going anyway." He looked at the man beside him, enemy and ally, and shook his head. "We've no other choice."

Beren nodded, smiling faintly, and settled back against the tree, his arms crossed, his gaze fixed on the distant shrine. "Of course not," he said. "No choice at all." And all Meruk's confusion and guilt made not a dent in his calm, bastard Guilder that he was. But for some reason, as he settled back himself beside the man, Meruk felt strangely reassured by his presence. It worried him a little, how much he seemed to trust this enemy. Enough even to sleep at his side.

Ah well. One more day, and it was hardly going to matter.


	4. If One Should Die

They stopped at the entrance to the Shrine, just before the white paved edge of the courtyard, all at once and purely by shared instinct, shared apprehension. Aruk tilted his chin up, proud and melancholy God of War. Beren moved to his side, a strange alliance, but the Guilder looked as natural at his enemy's side as if he'd been born there. Daes moved to stand beside him, honour guard and friend, but Meruk caught his arm, shook his head. The older soldier glared at him, furious that he would not even allow Beren a friend in death. Meruk said nothing, his command in his eyes, implacable, and Daes gave way with ill grace, taking up his place with Jung beside and slightly behind his God.

Beren and Aruk watched the little interplay, the God with a frown, a surprising degree of anger in his eyes. Aruk was as honourable as he was savage, and Meruk knew he disapproved. Beren, on the other hand, merely smiled obliquely, imperturbable as always. Meruk raised his head, hand resting calmly on his sword, staring him down until at last, with that same strange smile, the Guilder looked away, forward to the Shrine and his death.

Then, and only then, did Meruk move forward to stand at his side, shoulder to shoulder, not as a guard but as a brother, his sword arm positioned to act as Beren's shield.

The Guilder started, turning to look at him in genuine astonishment, and for a moment Meruk only looked blankly back. And then, for the first time in days, he found himself smiling, a swift, smug flash of teeth in the man's face. Beren stared, disbelieving, then there was a roar of laughter as Aruk reached around him to clap Meruk solidly on the shoulder, pride and rich approval in his eyes. Behind him, Meruk could see Daes' snarled grin, mixed love and exasperation, and even Jung watched with his pale, distant smile. Meruk grinned at them, his men, his God. And his friend. Beren was shaking his head, slowly, incredulously, but there was warmth in his eyes, and the faintest flicker of a smile over his weary mouth, and Meruk knew beyond doubt that he had done the right thing, made the right decision. Beren was one of his men, now, and would be defended as such.

And then, as quickly as it had come, the moment passed, and once more they faced the Shrine, stiff and fearful, proud and unflinching. To a man. Meruk wondered if he had ever been so proud to be who he was, to serve who he did, to stand beside who he did. Maybe not. 

But he was now, and that was all that counted.

They moved forward into the temple together, the three Order soldiers a defensive ring around the God and the Guilder, Aruk himself slightly ahead of them, striding forward with all the arrogant surety of a God. But after the time with him as a mortal, there was not one of them that didn't see the fear in the line of his back, the courage in the set of his face. And there was not a one of them that would not serve him all the more gladly because of it.

They stopped at the base of the dais, all but Aruk, who moved to the altar itself, a bare stretch of golden marble, containing only three objects. A lamp. A bowl.

And a knife.

The War God stopped, standing over the stone, looking down at the blade, a strange, terrible expression on his face. Pain. Doubt. Need. He reached down, very slowly, almost fearfully, and picked up the knife, the blade fitting the way all blades fit in his hand, but this one he held with something like disgust, rather than appreciation. This one, he held as if it were cursed. And then, he looked up. Looked down at them. At one of them. They all followed his gaze, as if compelled, looking with trepidation and something close to pain at the Guilder. At Beren.

Who smiled his oblique little smile, straightened his shoulders, and walked with calm, steady steps to Aruk's side. He stopped at the edge of the altar, the knife between him and the God, his hand resting lightly on the yellow stone. It shook, that hand. But only barely.

Aruk stared at him, met his eyes, the God's face twisting with pain and self-disgust. Beren stared calmly back for a moment, silently, then tilted his head, a broad, genuine smile creasing his face, and reached out to rest his hand on Aruk's shoulder. The God blinked, stunned. Beren laughed a little, at that. "Gods can't die," he said, gently, and he took Aruk's hand, the one that held the knife, and raised it carefully to rest over his heart. "Did no-one ever tell you, my lord?"

Aruk stared, agonised, shaking his head, and his hand, his hand that had slain thousands, his hand that had been formed wrapped around a weapon, his hand that wrapped itself around countless enemy throats ... that hand shook as if with a palsy, feeble against the calm acceptance in the Guilder's eyes.

And Meruk couldn't bear it.

Striding forward in an instant, uncaring for maybe the first time in his life of his disrespect in the temple of a God, he stopped at Beren's side, glaring fiercely as the man blinked at him, and reached out to catch his Lord's wrist and pull the blade to his own heart. They stared at him, Aruk and Beren both, with stricken expressions.

"If any man here must die for his God, my Lord," he said simply, clear and proud. "It should be his Commander!"

There was utter stillness for a long moment, as if no dared breath, all staring at him in shock. Meruk felt vaguely proud of the effect, actually, almost relishing the shocked expressions. For a whole minute, he stood at the center of their little tableau, a noble and sacrificing figure, as if from one of the old paintings he'd admired as a child, and selfishly he rather enjoyed that minute.

Then Daes' snort of laughter ruined it, the old man wheezing with humour as he and Jung appeared at Meruk's side. He turned to glare at them, sharp words rising to the tip of his tongue, and falling away again as he took in his old friend's expression. Daes smiled at him, a father to a son, and it was an expression he had not seen in such a long time that he froze, uncomprehending. And then Daes gently reached forward to put his palm between the blade and Meruk's chest, and push him gently back from it.

"And if anyone here must die for his Commander," Jung commented lightly, his pale eyes warm and more present than they had ever been. "It should be his most loyal men." He paused, tilting his head with a wry smile, and added gently. "Sir."

Meruk stared at them, these two who had stood by him longest of all, these two who alone had survived the massacre of the Order to stand at his side as he helped his mortal God, these two who had worried that he might be too alone in a campsite on a mountain, these two who glared and laughed and loved him with all they had. And never, not in all his life, had he ever felt such a rich swell of love than he did in that moment, a swell that reached out to include Aruk's dark, pained eyes, Beren's strange, fathomless half-smile. These men. These four men. His. All of them.

"No." Aruk spoke suddenly, startling them all, and as one they turned to look at him. He looked at them, looked from face to face, to Jung's aloof innocence, Daes' ancient humour, Meruk's untarnished love, Beren's gentle confidence. He looked at all of them, then down at the blade in his hand, his only hope for a divinity, for a return to immortality. A blade that must be bathed in someone's lifeblood, before he had a chance. He looked at that knife for a long minute, then back to them with the strangest smile Meruk had ever seen on his cruel face.

And he cast then knife away.

"If any man here should die," Aruk said softly, proudly, the God of War in all his stern and martial glory. "It should be a God for his men."

In that instant, as if prompted by his words, the lamp on the altar went out, and a flood of shadow filled the Shrine.


	5. Tangling

Shadow flooded the temple, rich and dark and unnatural, and Meruk's hand instinctively found his sword, hearing his men find theirs as the shadow covered their eyes and blinded them. A threat, in the very temple of the Sun God! But he should not be surprised, should he? His god was now a mortal, after all, and one of his oldest enemies now a friend. But still. It rankled.

"You know," a soft voice commented in the darkness, male and bemused. "I didn't actually think he would do it. I didn't think he would have the guts." 

There was a laugh, then, gentle and reproving, and Meruk realised with a start that it was Beren's. "You're biased, Raidan," the Guilder chided, and Meruk could _hear_ the familiar smile in his voice. "You've hated him for a long time." 

"Raidan?" And that was his God, a thoroughly distinctive roar of anger. Meruk instinctively turned towards the voice. "What have you to do with this, whelp!" Meruk sensed the burly form stride past him, towards the stranger's voice, and he sensed too the rage in him. 

"Just looking out for a friend, _father_ ," Raidan spat back, suddenly behind Meruk, from right over his damned shoulder, and undignified as it may have been he couldn't help the jump of shock, wishing desperately that he could see. He jabbed the hilt of his sword back towards the voice, and gasped as a chill hand caught his, wrenching his sword free. He heard twin cries of outrage as some unknown force did the same to his men. And then ... the shadow lifted, and he stared into angry, mist-coloured eyes. "Couldn't let you actually kill him, after all," Raidan, god of rain, finished. 

"Don't bully him, Raidan," Beren chided, a glint of temper in his voice, and then he was at Meruk's side, pulling the godling's hand away from his arm, gently guiding Meruk back a step. "He's proven himself. They all have." 

"Yes, they have." 

Meruk turned his head as this new voice sounded, and turned to see Shanra, daemon of shadow, step out from behind Daes, his sword in her hand. That explained the blinding darkness. Gritting his teeth, he looked around, and saw Mellanie, the thief daemon who had stolen his God's divinity, holding Jung's sword, and then, where Raidan had been only moments before, where Aruk had stormed to, was Gallana, the daemon of battle, with Aruk pinned on the ground beneath her feet. 

Surrounded, then. Disarmed. It was the slaughter of his Order all over again, and Meruk turned to Beren in anguished betrayal, and rising cynicism. Of course. Of course. Had he ever really expected the Guilder to be his friend, his ally. Of course Beren would not walk into certain death, not for them, not for Aruk. Not for him. Hadn't the man even _told_ him he'd been sent, that it was part of a plan? Why had he ignored that? Why? He glared at the man who held his arm, and there was true hatred in his eyes. 

Beren met his gaze, and smiled sadly. "I am sorry," he said, gently. "All of you. But it had to come to this. Aruk had to prove himself, or we were all lost." He shook his head, and when he looked back up Meruk could see a strange loss in his eyes, as if _he_ had been the one betrayed. It made him shake with rage, jerking his arm free furiously, spitting on the damned bastard. 

Then chill hands wrapped around his shoulders, and he was yanked back by a furious godling. Raidan turned him in place, and _shook_ him, as if he were an idiot child. "Don't you _dare_ ," the rain god hissed. "Don't you dare blame him! After all you made him endure, and you blame him for plans set in motion before he ever _met_ you, let alone allowed himself to care!" He spat. "You think he wouldn't have died for you, idiot? He would, and it would never have been his fault!" 

He threw Meruk back in contempt, and arms caught him from behind, wrapped around him to cushion his fall, and he looked up to find it was Beren. "Don't, Raidan!" Hard, cold. Then soft, as the godling looked at him in bewilderment. "Don't. There are too many wounds here. Don't add to them." 

"He is right, Rain God," Shanra spoke up. "We are here to stop the fighting, not add to it." She raised her chin, regal and sure, and turned to hand Daes back his weapon before glaring at the daemons holding Jung and Aruk. Mellanie gave way with grace, smiling slightly as she handed Jung his sword, but Gallana cursed, holding tight to the War God's arms. He was her oldest enemy, after all. And she had slaughtered his troops single-handedly before the God tried to intervene on their behalf. 

Meruk wished, not for the first time, that Aruk had let them all die. 

Then a figure appeared behind Gallana, stern and grey and immovable, and Meruk felt the breath freeze in his lungs, his knees weakening until Beren's grip was the only thing holding him up. Without seeing, he sensed Daes and Jung drop to their knees, Shanra and Mellanie, and even Raidan close behind them. Aruk already knelt, but his face blanched as he looked over his shoulder to see what they knelt for. Only Gallana and Beren did nothing. 

{Let him go, Daemon of Battle,} murmured Shaiar, God of Death. {Release my brother.} 

Gallana turned, going impossibly still, frozen between hate and fear for a long minute. Then she let go of Aruk's arms, backing away slightly, dropping to one knee. Aruk stayed where he was, only turning to face his dark brother. 

Not even daemons, not even gods, challenged this power. 

Shaiar looked over them, weary and angry and confused, looked to the altar where a knife had rested, and to Aruk, who feared him in this moment more than he had ever feared anything in his life, who could only think that his time had run out, that the enforced mortality had taken its final toll. He looked at them, and then he looked at Meruk, and a smile creased that grey and dour face, wide and genuine. Meruk stared. 

{What have you managed now, my friend?} The God of Death asked, warm and amused, while Meruk blinked in terror and confusion. {What mess have you made?} 

"Not my making," a voice above him answered with a laugh, and Meruk turned his disbelieving gaze on Beren's smiling face, blinking at the welcome and relief he saw there, too confused to even try to consider what it meant. 

"I didn't make the mess," Beren continued, smiling down at him for a second before meeting the Death God's indulgent smile. "I'm just here to clean it up!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *ducks hastily* And that's all she wrote. Um. For now?


End file.
